


Sweet Cherry Pie

by 61Below



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Tater knew first, This is my love letter to hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7958953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/61Below/pseuds/61Below
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've spent two years secretly together, but they have friends who love them. </p><p>...Unfortunately, those same friends are dense, loud, and have <i>horrible timing</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Cherry Pie

**Author's Note:**

> **All glory, laud and honor to Ngozi**
> 
> (A few things to know: Jack hasn't introduced the Falconers to Bitty yet, because he's convinced that they'd take one look at his face and just _know_. Also, in this verse, Bitty didn't live with him in Providence for the summer between junior and senior year, but they did spend another 4th in Madison and a couple weeks' vacation at the Zimmermann cabin. I might add those stories to this later, but for now? This is what you need to know).
> 
> ((Apologies to any Yale fans))

Anticipation fizzed sharp and bright in his gut as Jack walked up to the arena, buoyed in a sea of Samwell red. Tonight-- tonight Bitty was playing in the final of the Frozen Four. He barely heard Shitty and Ransom and Holster's antics beside him. Jack could feel his cheeks hurting from an unstoppable grin, and the tips of his fingers tingled. Pride glowed beneath his chest. 

The swell of the crowd carried them inside the arena, beneath the glass and bright lights and Falconers' swag everywhere, and even after two years, the sight of himself on the marquis sent a shock and thrill through him-- 

"Ohhhmygod brah, _look_ , it's THE Jack Zimmermann!" Ransom called with exaggerated glee and pointed at the banner. Jack slung an arm around Ransom's shoulders and spiked the brim of his snapback as Holster and Shitty howled, and yep, this was just like being in the dining hall again, when some Wellie would ask for an autograph and the rest of the team would pile on, asking him to sign their mashed potatoes or their o-chem homework.

(People parted around them, side-eyeing them hard).

Jack hauled them toward the will call booth, and then he spotted his dad over the crowd, standing with his maman and Bitty's parents. Jack picked up their tickets, then his maman pulled him into a tight hug. 

"Hi Mrs. Bittle, Coach," Jack said when his maman let him go. 

Bitty's mom cried, " _Suzanne_ , Jack! Oh honey, it's so good to see you. Just look at this place! Why, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I couldn'ta believed it-- and you play here every day! Eric, isn't it exciting?" 

Coach gave an affirmative noise, but Jack could see the awed glint in his eyes, and for just a moment, Jack was struck by the _need_ for this man to be proud of him, even just a little-- then he threw the thought into the box labeled SOON, along with the rest: to hold Bitty's hand in public, to hug him without having to worry if someone could see them, to take him on a date and show him off with a proprietary hand spread wide across the small of his back so that everyone would _know_ that this wonderful, beautiful man was _his_ \--

But Suzanne was still talking, her happy ramble so much like her son's that Jack couldn't fight the warmth rising in his chest.

His dad met his gaze over the top of Suzanne's head and gave him a small smile, no doubt remembering Bitty's own drawling chatter in their kitchen during their last visit to Montreal over winter break. 

Shitty and Ransom and Holster tussled behind him, and someone yelped, "Fuck--!" 

Suzanne stopped mid-ramble to gasp, "Mr. Crappy!" 

Shitty ducked his head and said, "Sorry Mrs. B." 

He looked so woebegone that Alicia drew him into a hug and ruffled his growing hair, asking, "How is Harvard treating you, my boy?" 

But then it was like a sledgehammer hit him between the shoulder blades and-- "Zimmboni!" Tater shouted in his ear.

Jack gaped up at his teammate, then at Guy, Marty-- Thirdy, Snowy-- even Poots, "Tater-- what?" They were all in Samwell red and sporting giddy grins. 

Mashkov laughed and boomed, "I'm support your old team-- we all here for you!" 

Ransom and Holster were nearly vibrating out of their skin. 

Marty explained in Québécois, " _We asked George to get us tickets when it looked like your boys could go all the way_ "

He spared a moment of panic to wonder if he'd been too transparent, if they knew how much this meant to him-- but then he forced out, "Th-that's great, thanks guys!" He elbowed Ransom in the side _back_ and started introductions as they walked inside the arena. 

Bright lights and cold, open air hit his face as they reached the top of the steps above the rink, and Jack spared a thought for how _odd_ it felt to be on this side of the glass. But there, crisse, George had gotten them great seats, right above the faceoff circle above the Yale net-- please, _please_ let them see two periods' worth of the most intense action, _please_. Then they shuffled into two rows of seats, Shitty on his right, Tater on his left, behind his and Bitty's parents, and _lord_ , Tater barely fit in his seat. The Samwell student section was right across the rink, with the pep band in the corner, and _God_ the place was filling up.

"Brah, you want a beer?" 

"Nah, Shits."

"Popcorn?" 

"--I couldn't eat a thing" Jack said, feeling like his skin was buzzing.

Shitty nodded and said, "I'll get you some nachos." 

"You'll just end up eating them."

"Why'd you think I offered?" Shitty gave him a shit-eating grin. 

Jack rolled his eyes and punched him in the arm as he got up and sidled out of the row. 

Below him, Suzanne gushed to his maman, "Oh glory, I never thought I would be here-- that _Dicky_ would be here!" Beside him, Snowy and Tater were fighting over the armrest. 

Sound swelled as the seats filled-- noise makers weren't allowed by the NCAA, but that couldn't stop the noise _made_ by the student sections, and then the teams took the ice for warm-ups. Cheers hit like a wall-- everyone was on their feet, and then there-- the C standing out stark against his jersey, Bitty flew out onto the ice. Jack's hands stung as he clapped madly, and the Samwell pep band threw themselves into 'Crazy in Love.'

Shitty dove back into the row, shouting his head off and sending popcorn and nacho chips flying, and Jack quickly grabbed the beers from his other hand. 

And then Bitty looked up and saw him in the crowd, and their eyes met. His chest constricted and everything else fell away-- the noise, Shitty's grip on his arm, the rush of wind from their laps around the zone, and-- 

Then Bitty skated into Tango and bounced off, laughing and shaking his head, and he refocused on the ice. 

Jack felt his face burn as his papa looked back up at him with a smirk. 

And then their warm-ups were done, and they shot all their pucks into their net, and the zambonis cleared the ice, and the players were announced, then the schools songs and the American anthem and then-- then the puck dropped. 

\-----

Jack shouted himself hoarse. The game was fast and brutal and desperate, and Yale was up 2-1 in the 3rd. His hands hurt from clapping and clenching his fists, and then Bitty got a breakaway-- a _beautiful_ breakaway, and he was flying back down the ice. The two d-men tore after him, but one fell, and Bitty spun around the other. Then it was just him and the goalie, and Bitty sunk the puck into the net over his outstretched glove. Jack saw the red light right before he heard the horn--

Jack almost flew over the next row, and there-- there, Bitty raised his stick to him, joy lighting up his face behind his mask, and then his team crashed into him-- he tied it, _he tied it._ ; Jack could feel his voice breaking, and then the pep band launched into Bitty's celly song, with its initial discordant wail, and he, Shitty, Ransom, Holster, and the entire Wellie fanbase belted along:

_["He's my cherry pie!](http://youtu.be/OjyZKfdwlng)_  
_[Cool drink of water such a sweet surprise!](http://youtu.be/OjyZKfdwlng)_  
_[Tastes so good makes a grown man cry!](http://youtu.be/OjyZKfdwlng)_  
_[Sweet! Cherry! Pie!"](http://youtu.be/OjyZKfdwlng)_

Bitty emerged from the celly red-cheeked and beaming, and then they all skated back for the next faceoff. The crowd barely quieted down-- there was only five minutes left on the clock, and _Bitty'd just tied it up_

As they sat back down, Tater asked, "Why he 'sweet cherry pie?'" 

"Why indeed!" Suzanne cried, both hands clapped over both cheeks. 

Jack blushed scarlet, but Shitty shouted, "That's because our boy Bits there bakes _the. best._ pies south of the northern border, my man." 

Ransom and Holster put their hands over their hearts like they were pledging allegiance to Bitty's pies, and _his maman_ murmured, "I don't think you need to put that qualifier on there, Mr. Knight." And Jack blushed even harder, remembering the last pie Bitty had made in his parents' kitchen-- more specifically, how they'd passed the _bake time_ while his parents were out--

But Tater cocked his head as he watched the puck drop, then he gasped, "Oh! So _this_ Zimmboni's sweetheart!" 

Jack froze. "Euh--" 

Suzanne whispered, "What--?"

Shitty choked, "G-bluh?" 

Tater grinned and turned to his teammates, gesturing at Bitty excitedly, "The baker! The one who make Zimmboni always smile at his phone--!"

Snowy asked, "Wait, the one with the game day PB&Js with the homemade bread and fancy jam?" 

Suzanne cried, "What?" at the same time Shitty shrieked, "WHAAAAT??" and tried to climb into Jack's lap. Ransom and Holster were clapping and calling, "Jack! You and Bits? Man, that's 'swa--"

But Shitty bellowed over them, "Jack! You beautiful motherfucker! I am so _proud of--!_ " 

And he finally broke through his frozen panic to try to wrestle Shitty into a headlock, "Shitty Knight-- not _here_ \--" (scuffle) "we are in public--!" (scuffle)

"FUCK YOU BRAH-- MY TWO BEST--!" (scuffle) "MY BEST FRIENDS ARE TOG--" Jack clapped a broad hand over his mustachioed mouth and looked to Ransom and Holster. _Those_ two were still clapping and BRAH!-ing until he met their gaze pleadingly, then they heaved big sighs and hauled Shitty into a bear hug across their laps.

Tater slapped a hand between his shoulder blades again, and he boomed jovially, "He sit with the WAGs from now on-- wait, now they will be WAPs: Wives and _Partners!_

Snowy clapped a hand to his face and groaned, "Tater, no--" and then the chirps flooded in.

Tater insisted, "What, is nice gender-neutral term--"

Snowy leaned over and clutched his heart, "Tater, my sweet summer child, you 290 pound neutron star of sunshine and puppies, _I will tell you later._ " Jack wanted to melt through the floor as the boys all howled with laughter, even his own _father_.

He rasped, "Guys, not now-- _not here--_ "

Then Suzanne whispered again, "--what?"

Jack wiped his hair out of his face, but she was staring up at him with wide eyes in a face so achingly familiar but not, and Coach-- Coach was bristling, beet-red, and _oh câlisse_ \--

Then the crowd around them let out an agonized gasp, and the whistle blew, and--

Jack leapt to his feet and cried, "Bitty!" 

Eric was facedown on the ice, hands clutching his head through his helmet, his stick flung out on the ice before him-- Jack's heart stopped. Dex and Nursey were up in some Yale player's face, and the refs scrambled to break it up. 

Then Bitty slowly got up to all fours, then stood, shaking out his shoulder and slowly bending for his stick-- 

Alicia clutched Suzanne's arm. Shitty clung to his. 

Memories of Bitty's concussion four years ago played on loop through his mind as the ref led the Yale player to the penalty box, and Dex and Nursey helped Bitty to the bench. The ref signed for cross-checking, and the clock announced a two minute penalty, and he dimly registered the booming tones of the announcer, but Bitty was on the bench-- 

(He was still on the bench, not back in the locker room--) 

And he rotated his shoulder as he talked to Coach Hall, so that had to be good-- it wasn't all bad-- 

Sound filtered back into his ears as the Wellies' student section chanted, "You can't do that-- Rat-- Rat-- Rat--!"

The game resumed on the power play, and Samwell controlled the puck, but none of their shots connected, and then the sharp _clang!_ of puck on pipe rang through his soul-- they were all on their feet, but that was a bad bounce, and Yale made a move into the neutral zone before Wicks regained possession and Coach called a line change. Bitty shot out of their bench, and Wicks sent the puck up ice. He caught the pass, and he was back over the line, and _oh_ he skated around that d-man, almost floating, and _crisse that was gorgeous skating-- tabarnak de câlisse j't'aime--_ and Bitty let loose a beautiful shot, upper shelf over the goalie's shoulder and Jack heard the _different_ note clang on the crossbar and he just knew-- and the light lit up, and the sound of the horn was almost drowned out by the crowd--

Jack felt his ears bug out, like an over-taxed stereo, but then Shitty was climbing him like a tree and Tater wrapped his arms around the both of them, and they were all jumping in place as Bitty threw both arms over his head, shouting himself, and then he disappeared beneath a pile of Wellies. 

This time, when the pep band threw themselves into Bitty's song, the Falconers belted out the lyrics with them: 

_"He's my cherry pie! ...Sweet cherry pie!"_

Jack stared at the clock, and oh _ostie de crisse_ , 3:35 left-- he clutched Shitty's hand as the puck dropped. 

The Yale student section, the fucking charmers they were, taunted, "You got lucky!" a few times before the Wellies' shouted back, "With your mother!" until the Ivy Leaged pissheads sat down. Shitty gasped with joy and pride. 

Play resumed with Yale back on full strength and-- and Jack could hardly breathe, _tabarnak_ the clock had to be off, had to be faulty, too slow, how was there still 1:50 left-- 

He was torn between never looking away from the ice and never looking away from the clock-- and _câlisse de marde_ it was even more brutal-- the hits got harder, the plays faster, and then Bitty ripped off a shot and--! It hit the pipe with a resounding clang and bounced away. The collective groan echoed off the glass, and then Yale got possession. They bore down on Chowder-- and-- _oh vache à Viarge Marie_ , the puck bounced off his pads-- and Jack's voice was gone-- his ears ringing from Shitty yelling right next to him-- and with thirty seconds left, Yale pulled their goalie-- he felt his fingers creaking beneath Shitty's grip, _oh baptême-- oh tabarnak--_

And then Tango intercepted a pass, and Bitty was off. Tango sent the puck up ice and Jack could hear the satisfying smack as Bitty caught the pass, and Yale couldn't pivot fast enough-- Bitty shot down the ice, a d-man gaining-- and he crossed the blue line and let loose a shot on the empty net just as the d-man took him out at the knees, and--

The red light lit up. 

Hats rained down onto the rink. Bitty slid across the ice on his back, making snow angels before the Wellies dove ontop of him. 

Shitty was crying next to him. 

Ok, maybe _he_ was too. 

Ransom's snapback was gone, thrown onto the ice, and they were all jumping in place as the pep band played out in the last climactic key change: 

_"He's my cherry pie! ...Sweet cherry pie! Sweet! Cherry! Pie!"_

The final faceoff was little more than a bookend. Ollie won the puck and skated in circles as the crowd chanted down the time, "Six...! Five...! Four...!"

Shitty sobbed into his shoulder. 

"Three...! TWO...! **ONE!!** " 

Chowder sprinted from his net to center ice, helmet and stick and pads flung in a trail, and then he threw his arms around Bitty. Wicks and Dex and Nursey slammed into them, arms wide, and then their bench emptied. Their swarming celly took up most of the faceoff circle. Then Bitty was up on their shoulders, and red confetti rained down. He ripped off his helmet and waved it overhead, his blonde hair dark with sweat and face shining, and Jack is in love. 

Shitty started shouting, tears streaming down his face, "That's your boy!" as the pep band launched into the Samwell fight song. In the row below, Suzanne was crying in his maman's arms, the two jumping up and down like schoolgirls, and his papa reached over them to clap Coach on the shoulder. Jack froze when Coach just stared at Bob for a long moment, but then he smiled and nodded, his grin spreading wide beneath his ginger mustache. 

Then they brought out the NCAA trophy, and they presented it to Bitty-- Bitty, who was the _captain, oh câlisse de crisse--_ and he hefted it over his head with a wild whoop, and the Wellies in the stands roared back. Then Bitty met his gaze and held it, his face alight with joy, and Jack's heart was so full. 

Then Tater punched his shoulder and cried, "Your sweetheart such good skater, Zimmboni! Why you not tell us?" 

Jack froze, trying to keep his shoulders from hunching in to try to make himself look smaller, and he swallowed hard. "Euh, we haven't told anyone really-- ah _câlisse_ , I need to call George in case anyone overheard--" he dug out his phone and shot off a text SOS.

Shitty yelped, "Wait, George knows? Brah, you haven't even told _me!_ Who _does_ know?"

Bob cleared his throat and indicated Alicia. "We knew."

Suzanne just gasped, and Coach burst out, "Well _we_ did not!"

Tater cried, "Wait, what? Was secret? Sorry, Zimmboni--!"

But Jack shook his head and put a hand on Tater's back. "No, it's ok, Tater Tot. We always meant to tell you guys, we just-- ah, we had a plan, just-- we didn't want this to be-- euh, this much a shock. 

Shitty cried, "This isn't a shock, this is like the _opposite_ of a shock, as in _you two are so obviously perfect it's a shock that I didn't see it before_ \--" then he shrieked, "Oh my god, _I'm_ the heteronormative douchebag here!" He clutched his hair. "Holy shit, Jack. Wait. 'With all the smiling at his phone' ... Holy fucking shit, Jack-- _how long?!_ "

Jack ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "Euh, be two years next month." 

Shitty made a noise like a tea kettle, but Coach exploded, "Two years--!"

Stricken, Jack met his gaze and felt his teammates bristle at his sides. The celebrations continued around them and on the ice below. Finally, he replied quietly, "We wanted to wait til after Bits finished school. I didn't want him to have to deal with the press in between studying for finals, in case word got out. Bitty had his own reasons for wanting to keep quiet--"

But Coach ground his teeth and ground out, "Two years, you spent two years-- _sneaking_ around, and _in my own house--!_ " 

Then Jack felt ice slide through his veins at this man's audacity, given everything that Bitty had gone through before he got out of Georgia, and he straightened. "Instead of getting mad at me for respecting your son's decisions, you should ask yourself why he felt that he couldn't tell you-- why he didn't want to tell you, just yet."

Coach hissed, "So, what, you were just going to keep him as your-- your secret _bit_ on the side--?"

Jack didn't hear the protests around him. He saw red and snarled, "He is _not_ \-- This isn't--" He took a moment to refocus on his breathing, then said more steadily, "Are you more upset that we didn't tell you, or that he has a boyfriend?" Coach visibly recoiled, and Jack squared up. "If it's the latter, then you have your reason for the former. He is mine, and I am his. _With or without your permission._ " He indicated the celly on the ice and ordered, "Now, this is neither the time nor place. He just won the national championship, after working so hard, for his whole life, trying to show you that he _can_ play, to make you proud in the only way you seem to know how to be. _This is his night_. Do not ruin that." 

"Jack," his papa said quietly. 

Jack consciously unclenched his fists and took a long breath. 

Then Suzanne looked up at him, eyes wide and lips trembling, and she asked, "You-- you love him?" 

This he knew to his core, and he replied reverently, "I do." 

Her face transformed and she reached up for his hands, clutched them in both of hers, and she choked, "Oh my boy, come here." 

Then he bent and she pulled, and she reached up to wrap her arms around his shoulders, and his maman was laughing tearily.

Coach cleared his throat, looking away, then asked gruffly, "You're serious about him?

Over Suzanne's shoulder, he nodded.

Coach stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared out over the ice, where Bitty was being interviewed by ESPN, then he tucked his chin and said, "Alright then." 

Then Suzanne's arms tightened infinitesimally around his shoulders, and his papa patted his back. Jack took a shuddering breath, and their future spread out before him. 

Jack's phone buzzed with an incoming call, and with a wet chuckle he stood and answered thickly, "'Allo?" 

"Jack?" George's voice sounded in his ear, and suddenly his chest was tight. The lights were too bright and the sound was too loud and he couldn't tune out the hundreds of conversations around them-- This was bad-- what if someone had overheard-- no, everyone overheard, but what if someone understood what exactly their collective group outburst had been about? What if the press had already broken the story? This was almost the worst way-- for them to be outed, not on their terms-- 

"Jack, it will be fine," Georgia suffused her voice with stern confidence. "Do you hear me?" 

He grit out, " _Ouais_."

"We've got this, and we've got your back. I've already looked, and so far nothing's gone public yet. PR will monitor the chatter, but if something does get picked up by the major sources? Then we'll just push the timeline forward on our plan. Ok? This is why we made a plan."

He shut his eyes and breathed, " _Ouais_." 

Meanwhile, Bob asked Suzanne, "Would you like to try to wait outside the locker room for them later?" She nodded emphatically. 

Then Jack hung up and Shitty rubbed his back. "You okay, man?" 

He took a shuddery breath. "Haven't been outed by the press yet, but they're going to keep an eye on it for a bit." 

" _Oh shit--!_ " Shitty gasped. 

Deep concern sat oddly on Tater's normally cheerful face. "We got your back, Zimmboni. We won't talk to reporters if you don't want." The rest of his teammates chorused agreement.

He heaved a worried chuckle and said, "Thanks, guys. We'll try to keep it under wraps for now. George'll give me a heads up if it's-- if they need to respond to--" he wiped his hair out of his face and took another shuddery breath. 

His papa looked up at him and ordered, "Jack. Go to him. Be waiting when he gets off the ice." 

Jack took a sharp breath, then nodded. The Falconers clapped his shoulder or punched his arm or slapped his back in farewell. Then Shitty slapped his butt and called, "We'll meet you down there in a bit. Apparently you need time to—" here he dropped his voice to a whisper-shout, " _congratulate your boyfriend._ " Jack's face split into a shy grin and he nodded, then he headed for the unmarked service doors that led to the plain hallways behind the scenes. 

\-----

He leaned against the cinderblocks for a few minutes and listened as the distant cheers slowly quieted. They had won, but that moment could not last forever. A few of the players started to come down the tunnel, and the frogs all started when they saw who he was, but they all scuttled on into the locker room. Then Chowder came down, and when he saw him, he froze. Jack pushed off the wall and wrapped him in a tight hug.

"You did good, Chris," Jack told him quietly. 

Chowder gave a choked little sob, and Jack patted the back of his head. Then he straightened and wiped away his happy tears, and Jack said, "Now go on and get out of those pads, eh? You've got to be dead on your feet." Chowder nodded a little loopily, and Jack laughed and shoved him toward the locker room again. When he turned, Bitty was right there. 

They stared at each other in the empty hallway. Bitty, in his skates with the top of his head almost eye level instead of a head shorter, still covered in sweat, still glowing with excitement, and Jack felt his throat tighten. Then they moved. 

They threw their arms around each other, and Jack spun him in a circle, his skates flying, but Bitty was laughing, dazed, still not really grasping the fact that they won, _they won_ , and then Jack kissed him breathless. 

When he finally set him down, their hands stayed fisted in each other's jerseys, and Jack told him roughly, "That was a beautiful shot." 

Bitty flushed a brilliant red and buried his face in Jack's neck, and Jack whispered into his hair, "You did it." 

Bitty whimpered against his neck, "We did, didn't we?" Then he heaved a great sobbing breath and stood back and said gleefully, "We really did! Oh my god, Jack, _I'm going to get a ring_."

Jack whispered around the lump in his throat, "Yes you will." 

Bitty misinterpreted his answering smile as a chirp, and squawked, "Oh hush you, soon you'll have enough cup rings to cover both hands." 

Jack snorted and pressed their foreheads together, saying, "Not what I meant." 

But Bitty pulled back and stared up at him, then blinked rapidly and sputtered, "Wh-what? Jack? Are you--" Jack cupped Bitty's cheek and ran a thumb over his cheekbone, and Bitty whisper-shrieked, "Was that a prop--?" 

Jack kissed him quiet, then he pulled back just far enough to mumble against Bitty's lips, "No, just-- making a statement of intent." 

For a moment, Bitty melted in his arms, but then he pulled back and swatted Jack's chest and drawled, "Well, good-- I'll have you know, I'll need a more romantic proposal than some concrete hallway in a basement, still covered in sweat--" 

But Jack pulled him close and murmured lowly in his ear, "I don't know, I can't think of any proposal more romantic than a hockey rink after you've won _the_ championship--" 

Bitty laughed a bit hysterically and kissed him quiet.

In his pocket, Jack's phone buzzed. Above them, thousands of people rode on the high of their victory. The news was already dissecting everything in the post-game coverage, and reporters were everywhere. Their parents and their teammates would be here soon, and there would be time for discussions and confessions later. But right now? Now they held each other in their arms, and they were exactly where they were meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> [This IS Bitty's celly song, fight me.](http://youtu.be/OjyZKfdwlng)
> 
>  
> 
> [THIS IS DEDICATED TO MY PRECIOUS BULLDOG CHILDREN - NEVER FORGET 2011 BABY](http://youtu.be/nKSB-ywRBek)  
> __________________
> 
> Shitty: OMGG LARDO WHY ARE YOU VISITING FAMILY OVERSEAS??
> 
> Lardo: IF ID BEEN THERE, IDVE STOPPED YOUR LOUD, PRIVILEGED STRAIGHT ASS AND THIS STORY WOULDNTVE HAPPENED 
> 
> Shitty: ...point


End file.
